


A Post-War Odyssey

by lumosJ117



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:03:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosJ117/pseuds/lumosJ117
Summary: Penelope Granger, Hermione's younger sister, returns to Hogwarts for her seventh year following the war. Draco Malfoy is back, too. Though they'd rather avoid each other, it can't seem to be helped that their paths converge. It's a long journey home--a long journey to feeling at home, once again, in the wizarding world--and they must decide if weathering a new friendship is part of that.





	1. Chapter 1

         Penelope Granger should have been prepared to go back to Hogwarts without her older sister since it's what she'd had to do the year before. She wasn't, though. It didn't matter how many times Hermione reassured her that everything was truly fine, Penelope couldn't so easily wrap her mind around that truth. Adjusting to post-war life wasn't easy. The sisters had spent the summer months trying and failing to track down their parents in Australia while also lending their efforts to restoring Hogwarts. At least, they'd been together. They'd even been able to see quite a bit of Harry and the Weasleys. But just thinking of being separated, again, was enough to set Penelope on edge.

         With only a year between them, Hermione and Penelope had always been close, sharing a love of books and learning. Penelope had been excited to follow along to Hogwarts and also be sorted into Gryffindor. The house of lions had been kind to her, giving her a second family and a best gal pal through the Weasleys. She loved her house, and she loved Hogwarts; but the castle didn't feel as safe or as homey without her big sister. The things that had happened to Penelope at the hands and direction of the Carrow twins, things she had never shared with Hermione, were more than she ever wanted to remember, not to mention what had happened to Hermione when she'd been hunting horcruxes. Separation wasn't good. No, Penelope firmly believed it was better to stick together.

         Hermione, though, along with Harry and Ron, were opting out of returning to finish their seventh years. The boys were pursuing Auror training, and Hermione wasn't wasting any time in launching into writing up new legislation proposals, specifically tackling sensitive topics like treatment and care of war victims and magical creatures who have historically been discriminated against and oppressed. Bold steps for the Golden Trio. Penelope just wished they had decided to come back to Hogwarts. They could've had one year to just be kids, again. One year when things might feel normal.

         Despite not getting that wish answered, Penelope was glad, at least, that other friends in Hermione's year--Neville, Dean, the Patil twins--were coming back to finish up their schooling. Change was in the air, she knew it was coming, but she was relieved to know it wasn't all coming at once.

         That's how Penelope found herself waiting to climb into a carriage with those friends, plus Ginny and Luna, too, ready to return to Hogwarts for her final year. She was looking at the other carriages fill up, curious to see who else had come back.

         His platinum blonde hair caught her eye, and she frowned.

         What was  _Draco Malfoy_ doing here? What did he think he'd gain by being back? Penelope watched as he climbed up into a carriage and sat between Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. He looked tired. Exhausted.

         "Oi," Neville said, grabbing her attention, "are you coming with us, or are you planning on walking to the castle?" He smiled at her, and she smiled back, accepting his hand up.

         Her mind was straying elsewhere, though. Seeing Malfoy made her want to march up to him and demand answers until the deep ache in her heart was soothed. She wanted to ask how he had just stood there and let his crazy aunt torture and mark her beloved sister. She wanted to know how he could be such a coward. She wanted to tell him he was lucky Hermione survived because he didn't want to know what the wrath of her vendetta would have looked like otherwise.

         "At ease there, aye," Ginny whispered at her side. Of course, Penelope's tension would not go unnoticed by her best friend. The source of it was a bit out of reach for the redhead, though, because she said, "Being back at the castle won't be that bad."

         For some reason, Penelope was grateful her best friend didn't know what had ruffled her feathers. It was easier to let go of her angry thoughts revolving around the Malfoys when she didn't have to acknowledge their son.

         But later, at the welcome feast, he caught her eye, again. Once more, she noticed his exhaustion. She was not used to the dullness in his eyes. Every instance she remembers of him arguing with her sister had a snap to it. A certain passion. A glimmer to his eyes.

         That's gone now, and she was shocked to find her lion heart breaking for him. She didn't want it to. If anything, she wanted to stay royally pissed off at him and what he had stood for. What his family was so proud of. She wanted him to hurt as badly as she had and still was. Did he know what the Cruciatus felt like? Did he know what it's like to be practiced on? To stand in the way of younger students so they wouldn't feel the same pain? Did he know the grief they're all still feeling over the deaths of Fred, Remus, Tonks?

         As she stared at him, her gaze dropped to his left arm. She recalled the trials she attended this summer, but more striking in her memory are the times she was around the Burrow with Harry. Neither of them could sleep very well, though they weren't the only ones, and neither of them were very good at retreating to their rooms and pretending to sleep, anyway. There were many nights they wandered outside for walks along field roads. Many nights of conversation. Mostly, Penelope listened as Harry word vomited everything from his mind: the weight of being a witness at all the trials; the ugly memory from Malfoy Manor; the truth about Snape; how Malfoy didn't kill Dumbledore, how he became a Death Eater against his will to save his mother. Penelope listened partly because she found it easier to not talk about what was on her own mind and mostly because she cared to hear what he had to say. That's how she found out so much. That's how she knew the reality behind the mark Malfoy wore on his arm.

         So, she reasoned he must know some hurt. He must know some trauma. More than she probably realized. And that made it difficult to be entirely angry at him, no matter how much she thought being angry and only angry would make things easier.

         But there'd been so much hate for the last few years, and she was tired of it. She wasn't sure what that meant for the people like Malfoy.

 

* * *

 

         Getting into the swing of a new school year was refreshing to Penelope. Naturally, things felt different from last year, but most of it was change she welcomed. She was glad everyone at the castle breathed easier, that no one was practicing Unforgivables on first years. She was also happy to be diving into double Potions, Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Charms. Slughorn was especially good in giving the seventh years and rare eighth years freedom to pursue projects they're passionate about. Of course, they still had to attend to things pertaining to their N.E.W.T.s, which was how Penelope found herself encountering Amortentia. Technically, they should have dealt with it last year, but, as everyone knew, last year was not exactly normal.

         Slughorn was beyond excited to teach them about the love potion, and Ginny snickered about it quietly behind her hand. Penelope noticed and nudged her friend. Then she whispered, "We all know what the potion will smell like to you," and the redhead blushed. The romance between the youngest Weasley and the Boy Who Lived was anything but a secret.

         "You just wait, Penn," Ginny whispered back. "You'll smell something that'll take you by surprise, and you won't know what to do."

         Penelope smirked and gave her friend a doubtful look.

         But then, when the fumes from the cauldron wafted over to her, Penelope's spine straightened in terrifying recognition and realization that Ginny was right. Because she smelled cloves and the clear night air on those field roads by the Burrow and cedarwood, and she knew exactly what that meant. She knew exactly who carried hints of those scents with him.

         They didn't cross paths the first week of school, though, so the implications of that day in Potions didn't really mean anything to Penelope until Tuesday of the second week back. She was in the library, working on an essay at a table in a secluded area, when he stepped up to her table. At first, she didn't even notice him because she was that immersed in her work. Then she noticed the scents, and she looked up, shocked.

         There was Draco Malfoy, staring down at her, and she wondered if he knew he was her walking Amortentia potion.


	2. Chapter 2

         "May I sit?" he asked.

         Her brow furrowed as she pulled her textbooks closer to her side of the table. She wanted to say no, but more than that she wanted to stop being angry. "Uh, sure."

         He watched her re-settle, not openly sneering but also not looking happy, at all. "I'm going to make this as painless as possible for the both of us, Granger, so--"

         "My name's Penelope."

         "So is Granger."

         "That's what you call my sister."

         "It's her name, too."

         "Do you think you're funny?"

         He smirked. "Actually, I do."

         Instead of spitting something else out and continuing to feed into their rally, Penelope pursed her lips and tapped her quill on the table. "There was something you said you wanted to make as painless as possible. Perhaps we should get to that."

         "Right." He nodded once, sharply. His lips twitched like he wanted to say something he shouldn't, and he watched her with secrets in his eyes. After a minute, he said, "I don't know if you are aware, but part of my post-war punishment is to take Muggle Studies. Get to know that part of living better. Realize there are more than just Purebloods out there, which I've known but apparently need to know a little better." Penelope raised a brow at that, but he kept going. "Anyway, each of us in this class has been given a Muggle-born peer to request something from."

         Picking up on why he was talking to her, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "What are you requesting from me?"

         "The title of your favorite muggle book."

         "Just the title?"

         "Well," he drawls, "we have to read it, so I have to know which one to order and--"

         "I have a copy you can borrow."

         Again, a long second of silence stretched between them as he stared at her like he was trying to figure out something else. All he said was, "I guess, I shouldn't be surprised that a Granger not only already has made up their mind about what book is their favorite but has also brought a copy with them to school."

         Penelope bristled at his condescending tone. "Plenty of people have favorite books and take them along to the places they go. Being a Granger has nothing to do with it. But if you'd rather just take the title of the book instead of borrowing the actual copy from a  _mud_ \--"

         " _Don't_ say that word." Draco's hand squeezed into a fist atop the table, and his jaw clenched. He wouldn't look her in the eye.

         "Suddenly hate it as much as I have? Suddenly had a change of heart?"

         His head jerked up so he could catch her gaze then. In a heated, low voice, he asked, "Would you believe me if I said yes?"

         And wasn't that the only question that mattered? Penelope could very well figure out for herself what she would chose in terms of her own anger and resentment, but it also seemed she needed to figure out those things in conversation with who Draco was. Change had happened and was still happening, but could she believe that it had taken hold of Draco's heart for the better? The answer wasn't a simple  _yes_ or  _no_ , so she told him, "Convince me."

         He had no verbal response to that, but Penelope saw fire spark in his eyes.

         Then she cleared her throat. "When do you have to have this book read by?"

         "It's an on-going project. Professor Babbling didn't set a due date. Just suggested to acquire and read as soon as possible."

         "So, you're all doing different book reports."

         "Sure." He opened his mouth, closed it abruptly, and then said, "I have a feeling our muggle counter-parts--obviously, for me, that's you--"

         She smiled sardonically. "Thanks for clarifying that for me."

         Giving her a look, he finished, "--will be offering us some help in discussing and navigating our way around whatever text we read since it is, after all, their favorite."

         "Lucky us."

         "Can we just go get this book already?"

         A strange sort of satisfaction came over Penelope, and she cocked her head, considering the blonde boy across from her. She understood that, to some degree, he was at her mercy. This was his punishment, and, at war within her generous heart, was this urge to justly deliver it. On top of feeling so conflicted, she couldn't stop breathing in the damn cloves and cedar. She couldn't push them away because, whether she liked it or not, there was something about Malfoy that drew her in. What was she supposed to do with  _that_?

         Wearily rubbing a hand over her forehead, she looked down at her parchment and muttered, "I don't know what these Ithakas mean."

         "Uh, come again?"

         She lifted her head up. "Nothing." Then she began packing her things away. "Come on, walk with me to Gryffindor tower. I'll get the book for you."

         "Do you really think I'll go anywhere near the lion's den?"

         "Do you want the book or not?"

         His stare was even as he watched her fill her bag. "Fine. Let's go."

         The corridors were quiet as they walked together, and Penelope was especially grateful for that. She didn't want people's looks, which they were sure to get if they were to be seen together. It would be bad enough once they go to the tower. Their odds of remaining unnoticed by a lion were slim. The closer they got, the more Penelope started to brace herself. Another stroke of luck came their way when they got to the Fat Lady because no one was out and about.

         "Just wait over there by that staircase," Penelope said, waiting until Draco followed her direction before whispering the password to the portrait. As quickly as she could, she ran up to her dorm and snatched the book off the under-shelf of her nightstand. She didn't even look on her way back down to see if any of her friends were hanging out around either of the hearths or tables.

         The luck had run out by the time Penelope made it back out into the hallway. Neville and Ginny were there, standing in front of Draco and looking hostile.

         "What do you mean you're waiting for Granger?" Ginny asked in an accusing tone. What she was accusing Malfoy of was unclear.

         "It's exactly what it sounds like. She's--Merlin's beard, thank goodness." Draco's relief at seeing her coming out of the portrait hole was palpable to Penelope, though it seemed like he tried to remain cool as ever. "Let her explain it."

         Penelope was approaching carefully but confidently. She did her best to give a reassuring smile to her friends. "No worries, you guys. This isn't anything threatening." Her last sentence was followed by a discreet glance at the Slytherin, who was already looking at her, expression unreadable. It wasn't too risky to claim there weren't any threats, but there was still a little risk. She wondered if he recognized the bit of trust she'd just extended to him. 

         Though Neville and Ginny were still skeptical, they backed off. They didn't go into the common room--rather, they loitered by the Fat Lady--but they gave the strange duo some space. Penelope didn't mind; she felt safer just knowing her friends were determined to be around to make sure she was taken care of. It had made all the difference last year.

         Holding the book out to Draco, Penelope said, "Well, here you are."

         He took it and read the title. " _The Odyssey_?"

         "Why do you sound suspicious already? You haven't even read the synopsis."

         Raising a brow, he said, "Oh, because if I handed you a book you definitely wouldn't be suspicious?"

         Indignation flared in her chest. "That's different."

         "Right," he said, "because I'm an ex-Death Eater."

         "Just read it." Penelope took a step backwards towards her friends. "And," she was surprised when a crooked, little grin shaped her lips and she spoke lightly, "don't crease the pages."

         Draco's eyes snapped from the book cover to her face, surprise in his features, too. Amusement, though, too, because he smirked and only left her after jokingly asking, "What kind of animal do you think I am?"

         Penelope shook her head and faced her friends, who were out-right appalled by their interaction. As they walked through the portrait hole together, Ginny said, "Okay, Penn, you need to tell us what that was about."

         "No kidding, Gin," said Neville. "I mean, I know the war's changed everyone, but Malfoy was entirely civil to you and--"

         "He has to borrow a book for his Muggle Studies class." Penelope figured she better interject before either friend verbally processed themselves to conclusions entirely off-the-mark.

         Ginny's mouth fell open as the three of them claimed an empty table. " _Muggle Studies_?"

         "He told me it's part of his post-war punishment."

         Nodding, Neville said, "That makes sense. I hope he bloody well learns something."

         "But why does he need a book from  _you_?" 

         "Apparently, everyone was assigned a Muggle-born to borrow a muggle book from."

         Making a noise of discontent, Ginny shook her head and started taking a textbook out of her bag. "Some odds of him being assigned to you. If, at any point during this assignment, he says or does something to you, I'll hex him all the way across Scotland, and he won't know what hit him."

         That made all three of them laugh, and then Penelope said, "I'm just worried that he might ruin my book," and that made them laugh even more. 


	3. Chapter 3

         Penelope and Draco didn't talk or so much as acknowledge each other until a few days later. He found her, again, in the library, working on something after dinner. As he sat down, he said, "You're not even doing coursework."

         She shrugged. "So?"

         "So, what are you doing?"

         Instead of replying, she tilted her head and watched him flip open the textbook he'd brought. "What are  _you_ doing?"

         "Studying."

         "With me."

         "With you."

         Penelope sat up straighter, looking around the nearby area and shelves. Someone had to be laughing at her. Or him. Someone must have set him up to do this. It wasn't like he had  _The Odyssey_ with him, so he couldn't use that assignment as an excuse for why he was there with her.

         Without glancing up at her, Draco said, "You look like you haven't slept well in days."

         She didn't pause to think before saying, "That's because I haven't."

         And wasn't that the miserable truth? It went beyond the measurement of mere days. Penelope couldn't remember the last time she had an easy, deep night of rest. After Hermione had gone off hunting horcruxes with the boys, terrible nightmares plagued her, and all of them featured brutal, awful things being done to her sister and friends. Those nightmares, once the Carrows became full-time staff at Hogwarts, morphed. The Carrows' efforts of torture knew no bounds, and she became a target of theirs. First it was because she was bold enough to protect the younger students, and then it was because she was Hermione's Granger younger sister who might prove to be leverage. That was when Penelope had to start hiding out long-term in the Room of Requirement; it hadn't been entirely safe for her to be free about the school. By that point, though, she was having less nightmares only because she was hardly able to sleep, at all. Even still, months after the war had ended, she couldn't rest. She couldn't find a reprieve from the anxiety or the pain. She couldn't get her body to believe that it was okay for it to lie down long enough to restore itself. 

         Now here was Draco Malfoy calling her out on it. Like she needed that. Like she didn't already know.

         He made a noise of acknowledgment and began turning the pages of his book, searching for the beginning of the chapter his class had been assigned. "They say it's a side-effect of the Cruciatus."

         Instinctively, Penelope stiffened, defensive. She didn't want to talk about this. She didn't want to verbalize any truths about what had happened to her last year because that put them out there in real space, put them out there to be recognized as truths. As things that had actually happened to her and that weren't easily retracted. So, she asked, "And if it is? What does that have to do with me?"

         At that, Draco lifted his face and arched a brow at her, looking at her like he couldn't believe he was about to spell things out for her. "The Carrows sent frequent reports to Voldemort while he was at the Manor. They kept strict accounts of how many Unforgivables were administered and to whom. Do you really think I don't know what happened to you?"

         She hated that he knew. She hated that he seemed to want to talk about it. What right did he have to that? Who did he think he was invading her space? Sitting at her table? They weren't friends. They were hardly acquaintances. What the hell did he want?

         And that's exactly what she asked him. "Malfoy, what do you want from me?"

         "My name's Draco," he mocked.

         "Just--stop." It came out in a frantic half-whisper.

         He sat up straighter in his seat, and, in her strange panic, Penelope watched as his expression furrowed. "Stop what? Do you think I'm here with some scheme in mind?"

         "I don't know." The not knowing, the on-edge feeling that reminded her anything bad could happen, made Penelope feel sick.

         After considering her for a minute, Draco sighed. "I'm not...I mean to say, there aren't any schemes I'm devising. I'm not here because I'm looking to manipulate you. I'm here because--"

         "Draco!"

         Both Penelope and Draco whirled at the sound of his name, and they were startled to find Theodore Nott, who had called out to his friend, and Blaise Zabini walking towards them. The boys had their school bags with them, and they sat down at the table.

         With a funny grin on his face, Nott looked between the lion and the snake and said, "We wondered where you'd gotten to after dinner. Do you mind if we study with you?"

         Draco, instead of giving an answer, turned to Penelope, letting the question hang there for her to respond to. That gesture caught her off-guard. "Oh, um, no. We don't mind."

         It was an odd scenario for all of them, but, aside from the curiosity in Blaise's expression, no one seemed inclined to address it or talk about it. Penelope wondered what her friends would think if they found her there at a table full of Slytherins. They would probably check to see if she'd been cursed. Then they'd probably check to see if she'd hit her head or something. They wouldn't believe she was willingly sitting there. Though, to be fair, when she sat down, she'd been along with intentions to remain alone for the rest of the evening. So, really, all this was Malfoy's fault. He was there for a reason; he'd just about told her that reason. She wondered what he had been about to say before his friends had interrupted.

         She pushed that unknown from her mind, pretty sure she was better off not knowing. Her attention was needed on what was before her, which was a book on memory charms.

         From beside her, Nott cleared his throat. "We hear Draco's borrowed a book from you, Penelope." He turned a friendly smile on her.

         Hesitant to feel at ease around any of these boys, Penelope just nodded, still a little stiff. "Yeah,  _The Odyssey._ Have you ever read it?"

         "Can't say I have."

         She looked across the table at Blaise. "Have you?"

         He shook his head.

         "Well," asked Nott, "what do you like about it? Why is it a good story to you?"

         Such a broad question but Penelope had an answer, of course. "It has many great story elements. There's adventure and daring--"

         Draco made a little noise that might have been a laugh and muttered, "What a Gryffindor."

         Penelope ignored him, kind of, and added, "There's wit and  _cunning_. It's the tale of a war hero and his long journey home after the fight is over. Gods and goddesses. Angry Poseidon. Barbarous Cyclops. A son who must grow up without his father." Up until that last detail, Penelope had been losing herself in the world of her favorite story. But her last observation had stilled the boy directly across from her, and she remembered just how very sensitive Draco was about his relationship with his father. She hurried to think of something else. "There's treachery, and a faithful love that must be defended."

         "Sounds interesting," Nott said.

         Penelope was happy that the conversation died down after that and that they got to their studies. She felt like she'd already said a lot, and she didn't want singular attention from any Slytherin. Focusing on her book after thinking, even rather briefly, about her favorite muggle story was difficult, though. All she could think about was her own father. He had read  _The Odyssey_ with her, had been the one to introduce her to it. She thought of Odysseus's son, whose father was gone for the majority of his childhood. Now what about what was happening in her life? Penelope and Hermione hadn't been able to find their parents, and they weren't even sure they could reverse the Obliviate spell Hermione had set on them. It had been for their safety, of course, and Penelope had never doubted that was the necessary course of action. At a trial this summer, a Death Eater had all but blatantly stated that Mr. and Mrs. Granger were top priority muggles to eliminate due to their connection to Hermione. 

         Yet, what did that mean for Penelope? Her father had been a steadfast figure through her childhood, but would she have to navigate the rest of her life without him? How could she bring either of her parents back?

         She sniffed and smoothed down the page in front of her. She needed to focus. This book might have answers, so she needed to pay enough attention in order to find them. If only she wasn't so tired. If only her sister were still around the castle, too. If only there hadn't been a war over everyone's blood.

         Sometimes you went away to fight. Sometimes the war took you far from away. And sometimes, Penelope knew, you never made the journey home.


	4. Chapter 4

         A letter from Hermione arrived during breakfast Sunday morning. Penelope was eating a quiet meal of toast and porridge and smiled when she saw the familiar owl. She eagerly started reading, hungrily consuming her sister's words faster than she consumed her food. It's not like the letter was especially filled with fascinating information--just an update of how Hermione's Ministry work was going, which was slowly but surely, and an inquiry about how the school year was, so far--but it was communication with one of her favorite people in the world. 

         Ginny sat down across from her as Penelope was finishing with the letter. "'Morning, Penn."

         "'Morning, Gin."

         "Letter from your sister?" She started loading up her plate with eggs and bacon on the fruit.

         "Yeah, she's doing well. Are you fueling yourself for a day of flying?"

         With a radiant grin, Ginny nodded. "Yes, and I'm glad the weather's so nice today. Nothing beats flying through blue skies and sunshine."

         Penelope smiled, happy to see her friend so energetic and joyful. There were many times over the past year when Penelope wondered if she would ever hear her best friend's robust laughter again. "Maybe I'll find my way down to the pitch this afternoon. Persuade you to leave your broom to walk around the lake or something. Maybe I'll even bring Neville and Luna."

         "What you should really do is come flying with me."

         "Maybe some other time, Gin."

         The girls spent the rest of the meal speculating if Neville fancied Luna. By the time they'd finished and parted ways outside the Great Hall--Ginny to the Quidditch pitch and Penelope to Gryffindor tower--they'd not reached a conclusion. As Penelope walked up to her dorm, she kept thinking about how good it would be to laze about outside, if the weather truly was going to be as nice as Ginny claimed. So, she stuffed everything she might want into her bag and headed out.

         Her first stop was Hagrid's hut. He was out in his garden with Fang and most certainly up for a little chat. The warm-hearted half-giant was dear to Penelope, and she only went on her way once they'd agreed she'd stop by a few days later for tea after class. Then she found a comfortable spot along the edge of the Forbidden Forest to sit back against a log and respond to Hermione's letter.

         What was there to say about the school year, so far? Nothing had really happened around the castle. Things were so quiet after these past years of conflict and chaos. Penelope did write very briefly about Draco's Muggle Studies assignment because she didn't see a reason  _not_ to, though she didn't elaborate on any of her conflicted feelings or the hunch she had that this might be the year she befriended some snakes.

         Theo, at any rate, had made it clear she was good company to study with because she was both focused and knowledgeable, so he wanted to meet up, again, at the library. She hadn't raised any objections. It didn't mean she was totally comfortable with that, but something inside her suggested she was just going along with the inevitable. It also didn't mean she felt the need to communicate these things to her sister.

         The snapping and crunching of twigs made Penelope's head whip up, made her snatch up her wand.

         Draco stood there, empty, open hands held up. "Good morning to you, too, Granger."

         She flushed and slowly lowered her wand. She focused on her breathing because she realized her heart was racing. Pounding from the suddenness of his appearance. Casually, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans-- _jeans_?--Draco walked over, sitting on the log she leaned against. She looked up at him and said, "I didn't think you'd be the type of wizard to ever wear denims."

         "What can I say? They're one of the Muggle things I'm trying out."

         "And do you like them?"

         He smirked. "I think I do."

         Penelope found herself wearing a small grin, too, and it unnerved her. Draco had this way of getting in past her guard in little moments like this. Yet, overall, she knew to be and was wary of him. She didn't understand how she could receive both sides from him. Though, if she thought about it, he was only giving her one side. It was hard to believe, in the ways he knew how, he was trying to be--friendly? Was that it? Was that what he was doing?

         In one, smooth motion, Draco slid down the log so he sat on the grass beside her. He stretched out his legs, and Penelope was amused to see he wore a pair of Converse. Jeans  _and_ regular sneakers? This couldn't be the Malfoy she'd known. 

         "I finished your book," he said, looking out across the grounds and over the lake.

         "Really? What did you think?" She really wanted him to say he enjoyed it. It shouldn't have mattered to her, but it did.

         "I liked it. I really did. I think I'm going to re-read it, though. You know, so I make sure I'm picking up on and understanding all the significant details."

         "You have time for that?"

         Softly, he said, "You're not the only one who doesn't sleep."

         Penelope couldn't tell what that revelation implied, but she remembered his comment about the Cruciatus curse and wondered if he was affected by it. That would mean, of course, he'd suffered under it. She, knowing that torture, hated the thought of it being administered to anyone. Even to ex-Death Eaters. The excruciating pain and terror and ache that came with the curse were not things people needed. Ever. The first time she'd been hit by that Unforgivable she thought she was going to die, and every time after she was sure she wouldn't be able to withstand anymore of it.

         Is that what Draco had experienced? Did he think he might die, again and again, at the hands of the people whose side he unwillingly joined?

         Draco spoke before she could ask or say anything. "I think it's curious this story is set after the war. Why not write of the war itself?"

         At first, his question was funny to her, but it only took a second for her brain to fully catch up. Homer's works and Greek history weren't things all wizards would know about like muggles would. "They did write about the war," said Penelope. "It's a separate book. It's called  _The Iliad_."

         "And that just focuses on the conflict?" Draco was no longer gazing upon the grounds but at her, sincerely interested in what she would tell him.

         "Yes, but not the entire war.  _The Iliad_ begins a decade into the fighting."

         Incredulous, Draco raised his brows. "If I'm understanding this correctly, they fought ten years over a woman?"

         Penelope scoffed. "Collectively, the wizarding world has fought well over ten years over the origins of someone's blood. People fight foolish wars all the time."

         "You think the war was foolish?"

         "I think the reason behind why it started is." She considered him for a moment. "Why? Do you think it's still a cause worth backing?"

         Voice colored with authenticity, Draco said, "I wouldn't be sitting here with you if I did."

         Penelope had to look away from the intensity in his stare, dropping her gaze to her hands.

         "What about the losing side?"

         "What?"

         Draco cleared his throat. "Of the Trojan War. Does this other book tell us what happened to them?"

         "No." She smiled at his look of annoyance. "That's its own book, too."

         Shaking his head in frustration, he asked, "What could they possibly tell us about the defeated that they need a whole separate book to do it?"

         "There are always stories, Draco. Just because you lose doesn't mean it's the end."

         "Hm." A deep, pensive look stole across the Slytherin's face. "And what's the name of that book?"

         " _The Aeneid_."

         "But you prefer  _The Odyssey_. Why?"

         Penelope plucked a strand of grass and started tying it into knots. When it broke, she picked another one, doing the same. "I don't like the war setting of  _The Iliad_ nor do I like to read about heroes falling.  _The Aeneid_ is interesting, but it's not satisfying. I like Odysseus's journey. I like that he's returning to his homeland. And I like how realistic it is."

         "Realistic?" Draco let out a sharp laugh. "Did we read the same book?"

         "Yes, realistic. Going home again, after you've gone out into the world and seen some ugly, horrifying things, is not as simple as a person might think. And, when you return, home doesn't always look quite like how you left it." Judging by his silence, it seemed he could agree with her. She twirled the knotted piece of grass between her fingers and murmured, "Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. / Without her you wouldn't have set out. / She has nothing left to give you now. / And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you."

         She could feel Draco's inquisitive gaze on her. "That's the second time I've heard you muttering about Ithaka. Since I've read the story now, do I get to understand why?"

         "There's a poem, by the name 'Ithaka,' inspired by  _The Odyssey_. It keeps popping into my mind."

         A warm and comfortable silence settled around them then, and Penelope rested her head back against the log, closing her eyes. The sun felt good on her cheeks, and she could smell all the fall freshness about her. For the first time in a long time, she was feeling entirely at ease.

         Draco shifted beside her. It made her tense, but she didn't open her eyes. She could trust him. If he'd meant to hurt her, he would have already done it. Besides, he'd said there were no schemes. No unsavory intentions. She inhaled deeply and made her muscles relax again with the exhale.

         Then Draco spoke. It was soft and low. "Things do feel different now, don't they? I grew up in this realm of magic, and it's always been safe and secure to me. Familiar. Now it doesn't. And I know it's my fault." He paused, but still Penelope didn't open her eyes. After a minute, he went on. "It's like I had a friend, a playmate from my childhood who grew with me and gave me more than I could have ever dreamed or asked for. And now they look at me differently--they can't help but be a little unfamiliar with me--because I took their generosity and threw it back in their face. There's a rift between us, and I've created it. Out of hate. Out of betrayal." His voice broke then, and, finally, Penelope did look at him. All she saw was torment written all over his expression, watering his eyes.

         She didn't know what to say. What even was there? How do you talk about this? How do you talk about what it's like to return home only for it to not welcome you back?


	5. Chapter 5

         "Okay, I bet you don't know this," Neville said, grinning over his open Potions textbook.

         Penelope grinned, too, thoroughly enjoying this game. "Try me."

         "What can you do if you mix dittany with silver?"

         "That's too easy, Neville."

         "Too easy? Slughorn's not even covered the many uses of dittany."

         Gleefully, Penelope asked, "When has that ever stopped a Granger from learning on her own?"

         Neville rolled his eyes. "Fine, tell me the answer then."

         "If you mix dittany and silver, you can heal werewolf wounds."

         Shaking his head, he went back to searching the textbook for a new question that might stump her. "I wish I had half your brain," he muttered.

         Ginny walked through the portrait hole then and smiled at her friends. "Are you two studying already? Classes just let out, and we don't have that much homework piling up, yet. Come on, let's go outside or something."

         It was true--this Monday afternoon could be carefree, totally devoid of anything school. Penelope was hesitant to not do any coursework at all, though, because the day before had not been as productive as she had anticipated. She and Draco had sat by the Forest well past lunch, sometimes lapsing into silence and other times talking about surface level things. Now she knew he liked traveling around Paris with his mother, drinking hot cocoa, and was especially good at Exploding Snap. Apparently, Theo was determined to win a game against him but had yet to.

         In turn, she'd told him she listened to a lot of music by the Beatles, was trying to teach herself how to play some of their songs on an acoustic guitar she'd gotten for her tenth birthday, and loved grilled cheese sandwiches. It was conversation, it was friendly, and Penelope had enjoyed it. Every time the wind blew the smell of cloves her way, though, she was confused, reminded of all the unspoken, unknown layers between them.

         The sound of Neville's book closing brought her back. He cleared his throat and said, "I'll have you know we were not studying. We were playing a game."

         Ginny raised a brow, skeptical. "With Potions information?"

         "He's trying to stump me, Gin," said Penelope. "But he's not going to succeed."

         "Merlin's beard, you two need to get out more."

         "Well, what are you thinking we should get up to?" Neville asked.

         And that's how they found themselves down by the lake ten minutes later. They were in a rock skipping competition, and, so far, Ginny was winning.

         "I think," said Neville, "you're charming your rocks."

         "I feel an attack on my integrity," Ginny retorted.

         Penelope crouched down, searching for what might be the perfect, winning stone. "Well, I hate to admit this, but I think Gin's better at me in this."

         "Wow," Ginny laughed, "you're so humble, Penn. I'll take this victory, though, since you generally beat me at most everything else."

         "Except Quidditch," said Penelope.

         Neville picked up a new rock and threw it. Only three skips. "Let's go back to our game, Penn, but reverse it. You ask us questions and see if you can stump us."

         "We already know she will."

         "Yeah, what are you going to get from this?"

         He shrugged. "I'll learn more of what you know so, in the future, I will be able to better know what could be tricky for you."

         That seemed like good enough logic to Penelope, so she thought for a moment, picking through her brain for a tough question. Then she asked, "Which European country had problems with mountain trolls and fought the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards on banning troll hunting?"

         "Bloody hell," Ginny said, glancing back at Penelope before launching her rock. Five skips. "Why would anyone know that?"

         Smirking, she said, "We learned this back in fourth year."

         "What class?"

         "I can't give you hints, Nev. That's against the rules."

         Sticking out his tongue, he said, "Fine. I'm gonna need a minute to think. Fourth year was a long time ago, you know."

         "Oh, right," Ginny chuckled, "you're so old." Her amusement faded as something over Neville's shoulder caught her attention. Penelope swiveled, unsure how she felt when she saw Theo and Draco headed their way. "What do  _they_ want with us?"

         Feeling some Gryffindor courage, Penelope confessed, "I think, they're trying to be friends. At least, they're trying to be friends with me."

         Ginny's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean? Does this have to do with that book Malfoy borrowed?"

         "I don't know. But they--plus Blaise--studied with me last week. They weren't mean or mischievous."

         "They studied with you? Why didn't you say anything?"

         "It didn't seem like something that would go over well with you, Gin," Penelope said, dryly.

         Neville snorted, and Ginny, getting rild up, glanced at him. "This isn't funny, Nev. These are snakes, and Penn is my best friend and--"

         "At what point are we going to move on from  _all_ the prejudices of the war?"

         Neville's soft question froze both girls. More than that, it shamed Penelope. Everyone, from both sides, was in this post-war season. It was true that, in some ways, even Slytherins and ex-Death Eaters had been wronged. People needed healing, and they all had a duty to each other. Survivors survive--and they have to figure out how to keep living.

         "Penn," Neville said, catching her eye, "if they are sincere in trying to be your friend, I will behave myself. But you better believe I'm not about to wholeheartedly trust either of them, especially Malfoy. I don't think I have to tell you that I think you shouldn't, either."

          With a small smile, Penelope said, "Thanks, Nev."

          Ginny, however, didn't say anything, and the Slytherins approached.

          For a second, Penelope wondered who would be the one to speak first before she realized she had to do it. Hoping she looked receptive and not wary, she turned and said, "Hullo, Theo. Draco."

          Draco, like Ginny, didn't seem inclined to talk, but Theo was establishing himself, to Penelope, as rather outgoing. "Hullo, Penelope." He directed a smile--she saw a little tension in the gesture--towards her friends. "Hullo, Neville. Ginny."

          True to his word, Neville behaved and nodded in greeting. He even took it a step further when he asked, "Are you any good at skipping stones? We're having a little competition, and Ginny's kicking out butts."

          Theo moved closer to the water and looked down at the rocky shore. "Can't say I'm very good, but we'll find out exactly how bad I am."

          By that time, Penelope gave up on finding the perfect rock and fully sat on her bum, intrigued by what was transpiring. Then she looked at Draco. He, noticing her attention, arched a brow at her. So, she asked, "Are you just going to stand there?"

          He smirked and came closer, sinking down beside her. "I'm not much of a rock skipper."

          "Maybe you can do something else for us then."

          Penelope was surprised by Ginny's comment. She was also a little nervous about what her best friend would say next and could tell everyone else was, too.

          Ginny went on. "Penn's asked us a question to stump us, and it has. But you're supposed to be on the intelligent side. Maybe you can answer it for us."

          "Merlin's beard," Draco said, "was that half-compliment from a  _Weasley_?"

          Penelope was glad the teasing tone was blatant, though Draco's jaw twitched, and that Ginny seemed to pick up on it by non-menacingly saying, "Oh, stuff it, Malfoy. Penn, ask the question, again."

          "All right. Here it is: Which European country had problems with mountain trolls so they fought the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards on banning troll hunting?"

          "Who even knows that?" Theo asked.

          "That's what Ginny asked, "Neville chuckled. "But, apparently, it's something we would've learned in--"

          "Fourth year," said Draco. "Liechtenstein."

          Ginny shook her head. "Of course, you would know that, too."

          It hadn't been any sort of test, but Penelope deeply appreciated Draco knew the answer. This--like whether or not he liked  _The Odyssey_ \--didn't matter, but she was pleased all the same.

          Then, surprisingly, he nudged her, his elbow bumping against her arm. The contact sent a thrill of warmth through her. He smirked down at her; she was sure her cheeks were a little red. "Try again, Granger. I'd like to see if you know something I don't."

          She wanted to be snarky and say there were definitely things she knew that he didn't; however, that just made her think of the Amortentia, and that was certainly something she didn't want to talk about. "Okay," she said, thinking, "um, what type of divination involves cracking open eggs and observing which way the yolks fall?"

          "Again," said Theo, "who would know that?"

          Draco scoffed. "Come on, Granger. That's ovomancy. Too easy."

          His remark made her indignant. "You ask me something then."

          "All right, I will." A determined glimmer shone in his eyes.

          While he thought of something clever and obscure, the rock skippers rolled their eyes and turned back to the lake, amused by the two brainiacs.

          "I've got it: who is the founder of Durmstrang?"

          "You thought  _my_ question was too easy? Please. It was Nerida Vulchanova."

          For a brief second, disbelief that she'd responded correctly flashed across his face. But then he got serious, again. "What about this: what creature has hair that can be woven into invisibility cloaks?"

          They went back and forth like that for at least half an hour. In that time, Ginny handily out-skipped the boys and grew hungry enough to cut off the questioning by asking, "Can we head in for supper now, or are you going to play this game all night?"

          As Penelope, Ginny, and Neville sat down to eat at their house table a bit later, Neville happily said, "It was easier to behave myself than I thought it was going to be. Nott seems like someone I could actually be friends with. Even Malfoy was tolerable."

          "Yeah," Ginny said, "but I'm still not sure I like him."

          Penelope figured as much. But it was a start--to what she didn't know--and she would take it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize some of you may be asking yourselves, "Why the heck is this story downplaying the realities of who Draco was in the books?" (i.e. he did some pretty awful things, specifically towards Hermione, why isn't the author addressing them?). So, I just wanted to point out that the reality of this story is similar to the original books but slightly varied. Since I have taken the liberty of creating a younger sister for Hermione and sort of making a little spin on the original story, I am doing the same for Draco's character. So, I would ask that you would work with me here in suspending your disbelief as I try to paint a better picture of who Draco is in this reality! Thank you!

         Another letter from Hermione arrived the next morning, but Penelope didn't have time to read it until much later in the day. No, she didn't read it until after classes were finished, she'd had tea with Hagrid, and was on her way to the library. As she walked, she read. The letter wasn't very long, and most of what Hermione had to say revolved around this:  _I know you are such an empathetic feeler, Penn, and I've always loved your compassionate spirit--but I really think you need to tread carefully around Draco. Motives are a funny thing, especially if you don't know what they are (and I feel they must go beyond simply needing your assistance in a class). Be careful, Penn. Don't let him get too close._

         Penelope walked into the library, heading back towards her favorite spot, and sighed. She knew her sister was advising out of love and wisdom, but it made her sad. Made her sad because she, agreeing with Neville, wondered when all the prejudices of the war would stop lingering and had a feeling they wouldn't disappear any time soon. Maybe she was sad to be reminded that she really didn't know much about Draco except who he'd been, and there was the reasonable chance he was still someone who could hurt her. He was--

         Penelope stopped short when her spot came into view. He was already sitting at her table. With a quick flit of his eyes, he glanced at her but kept working on whatever assignment was in front of him.

         "Hey," Penelope said as she moved closer, pulling out a chair and sitting. To her own ears, she sounded a little breathless.

         "Hi." He finished whatever sentence he was writing before lifting his face to fully look at her. His gaze fell on the paper in her hands. "A letter from your sister?"

         "Uh, yeah, how did you know?"

         Shrugging, he said, "Seemed like the logical conclusion." He scratched his brow, saying, "I hope her Ministry work is going well."

         "You do?"

         "Are you more inclined to believe me if I tell you I actively wish she failed at everything she tried?" His tone was dry.

         Penelope set the letter aside to arrange her homework in front of her. "No, I just didn't expect you to say that." She needed to remember that, so far, he was going against the trends she'd come to anticipate. That made her think of Hermione's advice, so she sighed, again, and grabbed the letter, folding it.

         "Did she...well, did she write something upsetting to you?" Draco asked.

         "That's not really your business--"

         "You don't think I know that?"

         "--but yes."

         Both of them were a little unsure what to do with that. Penelope hadn't planned on saying anything about the letter's content; somehow she couldn't stop herself, though. After an awkward thirty seconds, she decided to press on. "She's just advising me to tread carefully. To not get too close to anything I don't fully know."

         His stare was intense. "You mean any _one_ you don't know." Her silence was confirmation, and he sneered, "I thought it was the Granger tradition to uncover information, if you encountered something you didn't know about. Am I wrong?"

         She bristled. "You don't have to refer to learning as though it were a bad thing. But, fine, yes, we like to know things. And, if you're going to be a prat about this why don't you just tell me then. What's going on here? Why are we actually sitting here together? What brought about your change of heart?"

         A tense minute of silence stretched between them. Draco's jaw twitched, and she watched a quiet war in his eyes. When the minute went on longer, Penelope rolled her eyes in annoyance and shook her head. "I don't know why you just can't tell me," she spit out. "It's not like I'm going to--"

         "I don't know what you're going to do or say, Penelope," Draco said, sitting forward quite suddenly. The piercing stare of his grey eyes was enough to quiet her. "You are a mystery to me despite the fact that you are so like your sister. I mean, you are, but you aren't. And I thought for sure you would have hexed me that first day I approached you asking for your favorite book. But you didn't. I thought you'd be icy and unkind. Then and when I came to study with you and my friends showed up and even when we went to find you down by the lake--you have been nothing but kind to me. And I don't deserve it." It's like he's fighting to keep his voice under control, within a reasonable volume for a library.

          "You were at my trial this summer, so you know what I've done," he went on. "I let Death Eaters into the school. I  _was_ a Death Eater. I was there that day at the Manor when your sister was tortured by my crazy aunt, and I did  _nothing_.  _Nothing_. And I am here right now--and what I'm about to say is probably something that won't sit well with you, but I'm going to say it anyway--I am here right now because I stood there in my house that day and didn't help the Granger who suffered at my feet. But I am here now, and I know what's happened to you. And if you are the Granger I can help, then I will do it."

          Penelope, brow furrowed, just sat there for a second. Then her mouth dropped open, closed just as quickly, and opened, again. "Are you trying to redeem yourself? Or, like, absolve your guilt? Is that what I am to you? This means to an end--and that end being freedom for your conscience?"

         "No, wait, Penelope, that's not what I was trying to say. I don't view you as a community service or whatever it is the muggles have for juvenile delinquents." He reached out a hand to her in his flurry of emotion only to snatch it back and tighten it into a fist atop his essay. "I saw this as a chance to do something good. To do right by you. So, I picked you knowing what I do and hoping that--"

         "Wait, you  _picked_ me? What do you mean by that?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

         "Meaning, after the book assignment was announced, I went to Professor Babbling and asked if I could partner with you and--"

         "And she said  _yes_? I thought you said you were assigned my name?"

         Another interval of silence crept in, but not because Penelope was truly waiting for Draco to say anything else. If she hadn't been so bewildered, she would have definitely been saying something. But, as it was, she could hardly form words because her mind was trying to wrap itself around Draco's explanation while trying to figure out if she was supposed to be as mad as she was thinking she felt.

         Finally, she leaned back in her chair, arms crossing over her chest. Again, she shook her head. "I don't know what you think you're going to do, Draco. I don't know what you think you're going to be helping with."

         "Listen, I know what the Carrows--"

         " _Don't_."

         "But, Penelope, they tortured you and--"

         "Draco,  _stop_."

         "Are you going to spend the rest of your life denying what happened to you?" he asked, incredulous.

         Penelope grabbed her homework and stuffed it back into her bag and stood. "Maybe. But that's none of your business."

         Though he tried to say something, Penelope didn't listen as she turned and all but ran from the library. Once she was a few corridors away, she paused, leaning against the wall and realizing her heart was racing out of control. She shouldn't be this worked up over what Draco had said; he had been sincere in his sentiments. That was clear to her. So, why this instinct to run from him when somehow, someway he wanted to help her heal from what had been done to her? It was so very anti-Gryffindor. And her cowardice started not with running from Draco but with running from what had happened last year. Running was easier, though. Because now, after facing the truth for even a few seconds, she felt exposed. She hated that. And she hated that Draco knew the truth and that she knew him well enough to know he could very well still hurt her.


	7. Chapter 7

         "I didn't expect to find you up here," Ginny said the next night, coming through the portrait hole before curfew and spotting her best friend at a nearby table.

         Penelope gave her a small smile. "Wasn't really feeling like the library was the place to be."

         With wide eyes and a joking tone, Ginny walked over and pressed a hand against Penelope's forehead. "Are you ill, Penn?"

         "Oh, stop."

         "Well, what other reason would you feel like the library isn't 'the place to be?'" She cocked her head as she looked down at her friend. Then she narrowed her eyes and said, "All right, tell me what Malfoy's done so I can give him one of my Bat Bogeys."

         "No, no, Gin." Penelope reached out a hand, placing it lightly over Ginny's arm. "It's nothing. He didn't do anything."

         "Then why are you avoiding him?"

         "I didn't say I was."

         Rolling her eyes and pulling out a chair to sit, Ginny said, "Right, my bad. Why are you avoiding the library then? That doesn't sound like the little lion I know."

         Penelope sighed and dropped her gaze to the book in front of her. "This little lion isn't as courageous as people think."

         "Maybe not. But you're also more courageous than you're letting yourself believe."

         "Gin, do you ever wonder how long we'll carry the war around with us?"

         Not shocked at all by the apparent change of conversation, Ginny smiled sadly. Her voice was soft when she said, "Come on, Penn. You don't need me to tell you the answer to that one."

         They would carry it with them the rest of their lives because wasn't that how it worked with wounds that went deep? Weren't the deep wounds always the ones that took the longest to heal and left scars in their wake?

         Penelope wished Ginny could give her a different answer. Because she didn't want to be running and flinching from memories of pain for the rest of forever. She didn't want to sit up late at night, unable to find rest. In those rare moments she could drift off, she didn't want to face any more of those awful nightmares. She just wanted to be done with it all. But she didn't know how to be.

         The rest of the week passed sleeplessly and Draco-less for Penelope until Friday evening. She figured, since it  was the start of the weekend, Draco wouldn't be in the library. She figured he'd be hanging out with his friends because why shouldn't he be? That's what most everyone else was doing. Even she should be--Ginny  _had_ invited her to a party she was going to in Ravenclaw tower--but she just wanted quiet. She wanted peace. She was tired and not at all up to socializing.

         Just to be safe, she retreated to a different corner of the library. With a book in hand, Penelope settled down onto one end of a plush sofa, ready to escape into the realm of Middle Earth. While  _The Odyssey_ was her favorite book,  _The Lord of the Rings_ was her father's favorite series. He adored Samwise Gamgee and deeply admired Tolkien's craftsmanship. She, too, held these stories close to her heart.

         Penelope pushed aside any further thoughts of her father. She wanted to enjoy the evening, the book in her hands, not cry into its pages. Sniffing, she opened to where her bookmark was and meant to start reading. But she didn't get far.

         "Avoiding and now hiding? Are you really that upset with me, Granger?" Draco's voice was low but tinged with emotion, and it made her head snap up from her book.

         There he stood, ten feet in front of her. Dressed as casually as she was starting to grow used to. Ready to engage in whatever discussion or argument was rolling in.

         For a moment, she didn't say anything. Then she sighed. "Draco, I'm really not interested in talking about this."

         "Clearly." His hands clenched at his side. "But you can't avoid me for the rest of the school year. And I'm not saying that to challenge you. I'm saying it because it's true." He smirked. "I have your copy of your favorite book, after all."

         Her eyes narrowed. "I could always send Ginny to get it back from you. And she wouldn't do it nicely."

         With impressive restraint, he bit back the retort she knew was right there on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he stepped forward and perched on the other side of the sofa. "Look, Penelope, I didn't come here to argue with you."

         "Really? Because you seem ready."

         His jaw tightened. "What did you expect? I'm looking to be your friend, not someone you actively avoid. I don't want to be a person you don't want to be around."

         "What does it matter?"

         "Because I see you," he said, voice intense. "I see you, Penelope. And I see what the war has done to us both."

         "We aren't the only victims."

         "You're right, we aren't." He sighed and sat stone still. "If you want me to go away and befriend someone else, just tell me. I'd rather not waste your time."

         His suggestion made her stomach tighten. She took a deep breath, and all she could smell were those damn cloves and the cedarwood. Quietly, she said, "You don't have to go away."

         A minute of quiet stretched between them, and Penelope wondered what was going on inside Draco's head. What was the next thing to say? She was surprised to find that she did actually want to be his friend, wanted to know that people could change--by themselves--after having fought for the wrong things. The Draco she'd seen this school year was showing that to her, and she wanted to believe he was sincere. But she also didn't want him nudging memories of what had happened in the recent past.

         So, she knew what the next thing to say was. It surprised her, though, when he voiced it first.

         "I'm sorry," he said, softly. "I shouldn't have pressed about what I know regarding...well, regarding what the Carrows did." She stiffened, and he noticed. But he didn't stop. Instead, he finished by adding, "But, Penelope, don't expect me to apologize for hoping you'll find healing from it."

         Hardly able to believe she could find her voice, she whispered, "Thank you," and he dipped his head in ackowledgement.

         Then he stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and asked, "Who was the person who invented the Patronus Charm?"

         Confusion wrinkled her brow as she registered the sudden shift in subjects, but she was quick to say, "It's unknown who actually created it."

         A half grin settled on Draco's face. "I'll find something to stump you yet. Just you wait." Then he walked away, saying, "Have a nice night, Granger."

         She smiled and reopened her book, finding herself more at peace than she'd been in a while.


	8. Chapter 8

         Because she hadn't been out late at the Ravenclaw part, she was one of only a few other students in the Great Hall when breakfast hours started. Everyone else seemed to be taking the normal teenage route of sleeping in. Yet, as she was covering her toast in jam, she found she wasn't going to eat alone.

         "'Morning, Penelope," said Theo.

         Surprised at how unbothered she was by his sudden company, she gave him a soft smile. "Good morning."

         "Is this all right--that I'm sitting with you?" He paused as he reached for some sausage links, checking her expression. "Because I can move, if you'd rather be by yourself."

         She waved away his concern with a quick gesture of her hand. "I don't mind. After all, if we're going to be study buddies, we might as well be people who can eat breakfast together, too."

         The smile he directed at her showed his deep pleasure. "You're an easier person to befriend than I thought you would be." At her arched brows, he quickly added, "No offense."

         "What made you think it wouldn't be easy?"

         "Well, you're a Gryffindor, so that's strike one."

         "Strike two?" She munched on her toast.

         "Your sister is thee righteously fierce Hermione Granger."

         That made her smirk. "And three?"

         Sheepishly, he said, "You're rather intimidating yourself."

         "Hmphf." She picked up her cup and downed some water, watching Theo over the rim. "So, three strikes against me, but you're sitting here, anyway."

         He shrugged. "You haven't hexed Draco, yet, and he's Malfoy. I figure, what's the worst you could do to me if he's been unharmed?" That made her laugh, and Theo looked a little more at ease.

         Through a steady conversation about Slughorn's latest potion assignment, breakfast passed. By that point, more students were showing up and mail was being delivered. Theo happily took his copy of the _Prophet_ and excused himself, saying, "I like to read this down by the lake when the weather is nice, so I'll see you around, Penelope."

         Endearing. She decided Theodore Nott was surprisingly endearing.

         She wasn't quite ready to go as she'd yet to have her second cup of tea, so she stayed and was delighted when Neville and Luna showed up and sat with her. They had been at the Ravenclaw party last night, and Penelope was a bit shocked when Luna said, "Draco was there, and we had a lovely discussion about magizoology. He is a different boy."

         Slightly amused, Neville smirked over his porridge. "Yeah, we know he's different."

         "Well," Luna said, seemingly not picking up on what Neville was implying, "the war changed everyone. I don't see why he would be an exception." Then, like it wasn't such a shift in topics, Luna asked, "Have I told you guys how father is enhancing his spectrespecs?"

         After Luna finished explaining her father's latest work, Penelope excused herself. She, having noticed the sunshine coming through the windows of the Great Hall, headed outside towards the newly-constructed covered bridge.

         The day was even lovelier than she'd expected. A gentle breeze was refreshing beneath the cloudless sky. Almost entirely perfect. Halfway across the bridge, Penelope noticed a familiar figure and stopped to lean against the railing with them. They stood together, looking out at the grounds. Finally, she could see this place she loved and know it was at rest, again.

         "You finish your book last night, Granger?"

         She shifted her gaze to the blonde beside her. "No, but I don't have too much left. Did you have a good time at the party last night, Malfoy?"

         The hints of a smile played on his lips. "I did." With curious eyes, he turned fully to her. "Say, Granger, I have an idea."

         Automatically a little wary, she said, "And?"

         "And you don't have to act like I'm about to suggest we stick Puking Pastils in all of our professors' breakfasts," he said, chuckling.

         She gave him a look. "Well, what's the idea then?"

         Imperceptibly, it almost seemed like some nerves crept into his posture. Then he said, "I told you I wanted to re-read The Odyssey, right? I thought, though, you might join me in that, too."

         "What do you mean?"

         "Meaning neither of us sleep, so why not spend our sleepless hours reading together instead of being entirely miserable alone?"

         Her lips twitched, wanting to let loose a sharp laugh. "What--and reading together is supposed to still be slightly miserable?"

         Rolling his eyes, he said, "You know what I mean."

         "Hmm." She looked out, again, at the grounds. A sweet stillness she'd not known for some time stole over her, and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. Cloves and cedarwood--scents that were growing increasingly familiar--filled her senses. Not unsettling today but rather comforting. She still didn't know what that meant for her. And she needed to ask herself, there and then, was it smart to encourage Draco's idea? Was it even a matter of wisdom here or of the heart? And what did her heart desire?

         What she realized she wanted was security. It was a little scary but not altogether frightening for her to think that perhaps Draco could somehow be someone of safety.

         She opened her eyes and turned her gaze back to him. "Okay, let's read together."

         The relief that eased his posture was almost unnoticeable.

         "Where should we meet up?" she asked.

         "Well, there's that study area on the fourth floor."

         "Are you suggesting that because you know there's the secret passage to the seventh floor corridor that would keep us from being found by any prefects?"

         He tilted his head in surprise at her. "How do you know about that?"

         The Marauders' Map instantly popped into her mind, but she just smiled and shook her head, saying, "Magic."

         He smiled, too, and said, "All right, I'll see you there tonight just before curfew then."

         "Sounds like a plan." She took a few steps away, said, "I'll see you then," and kept walking down the bridge towards Hagrid's hut.

         For the rest of the day, Penelope worried she had acted impulsively and should actually tell Draco it wasn't wise to meet up like they'd planned. Wasn't wise to spend more time together. But she wasn't sure she had a logical argument against the idea, so she knew she couldn't bring it up to him, not when she wasn't even sure she understood her hesitation.

         Then, with only twenty minutes until curfew, Penelope found Ginny in the common room. "Hey, Gin," she said, "can I borrow the Cloak?"

         No questions asked, Ginny went and grabbed it. The only thing she was, when she returned with it, was, "Don't wander around too late, Penn; you look like you need some rest."

         "Thanks, I'll try not to."

         Draco was already up in the study area when she got there. He stood by the bookshelf opposite the portrait of Sir Cadogan, swinging it open when he saw her. As they slipped behind the bookshelf and he pulled it closed behind them, he looked down at what she was holding. In the light of their wands, he couldn't tell it was much of anything. "What do you have there?"

         "Uh, just, uh--"

         He raised his eyebrows at her and said, "Forget I asked."

         Then she looked at what he was holding. "Three books?"

         "Of course." Setting two of them down, he pointed his wand at them, and a few seconds later they morphed into two, plush pillows. With a smirk, he asked her, "You didn't think I'd sit on the floor, did you?" Then he lowered himself onto one and looked up at her, holding out her book. "I thought you could be the one to read out-loud."

         Smoothing a loving hand over the cover of what, to her, was a cherished friend, Penelope asked, "You don't want to do it?"

         "Well," he shrugged, "it is your favorite book, after all. Seemed more appropriate to hear your voice as narrator."

          It didn't make a difference to her, so she sat, too. From a standing point of view, the pillows hadn't looked as close as they were, but sitting made it clear just how wrong that was. She sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Draco, even feeling his leg brush up against hers. He didn't seem inclined to move, and she didn't ask him to. The only thing he did was untie his shoes so he could kick them off and get a little more comfortable. Then he looked at her, his face nearer than it had ever been before. She was sure her cheeks were flushing and that he might comment on it. But, though his eyes flickered from her eyes to the rest of her face--even lingering on her mouth?--he didn't say anything except, "All right, Granger. I'm ready."

          Clearing her throat, she tore her gaze away from his and focused on the book in her lap. She took a deep breath, and then she began: "Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide..."


	9. Chapter 9

         "We've got our first Hogsmeade weekend coming up," Ginny said a few days later as the friends ate dinner together. "Am I correct in assuming we're all going together?"

         Neville nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely."

         With a sly smile, she said, "Good, then I'll let Harry know he can count on seeing all of us."

         Penelope's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Harry's coming to visit?"

         "Mhmm. He owled me yesterday saying he'd be able to get away from Auror training on Saturday."

         "No Ron, though?" Neville asked.

         "I guess he's going to try and surprise Hermione with a day of fun for just the two of them. Whatever that means," said Ginny.

         Penelope smiled at that news. A visit from a good friend and information regarding her sister's happiness. These were exactly the kinds of things she liked hearing about.

         While her friends chatted animatedly about what their Hogsmeade plans should look like, Penelope just listened, too tired to really contribute much. She was cautiously admitting to herself that she enjoyed spending these recent nights with her favorite book and the blonde boy who was slowly yet steadily working his way past all her defenses. Yet, that didn't change the fact that she simply wasn't getting the rest her body so desperately needed.

         Draco had been right when he'd commented that extended exposure to the Cruciatus made it increasingly difficult--physically--for a person to find the respite they required, but it also went further than that because every time she drifted off ended in nightmares and terrors. Sleep, for that reason, never actually seemed appealing.

         She figured she should probably do more research into what she could take or what charm she might use that could help her find a solution to this problem, but she hardly had the energy to do so. Not when she wanted to use as many of her resources towards learning how to fix her parents' memories.

         Despite her lower than low energy, when she met up with Draco at the usual time and place, he seemed rather energized. Well, at least, a good deal more energized than she. As they sat down on their pillows, he asked, "Do you like sharing a name with the leading lady of this book?"

         She set the Cloak down--at this point, she figured she'd give it back to Ginny when the redhead asked for it--and shrugged. "I don't mind it. She's a good character. Good representation of us Penelopes."

         "Don't you think that same kind of faithfulness should have made you a Hufflepuff, though? You know, loyalty and all that?"

         "No one said a Gryffindor can't have those traits, too." She stifled a yawn and held the book out in front of him. "Can you read tonight, Malfoy?"

         He gave her a curious look but accepted the text all the same. "Sure, but bear with me and what I'm sure will be terrible pronunciations."

         "Oh, please," she scoffed. "If there's a question out there as to why I wasn't sorted into Hufflepuff, then let's raise a query as to why you aren't in Ravenclaw."

         He chuckled a little at that and looked over in her general direction. Then he asked, "Do you mind if I use that blanket of yours? It gets surprisingly drafty in here."

         Before Penelope could stop him, Draco reached over her and grasped the Cloak. One second he was laying it over his lower half and the next he was shoving it away and falling off his pillow. "Bloody hell, what is that?"

         "Shh, Malfoy!" she hissed, glancing at the closed bookcase. "Do you want some prefect to accidentally find us? Or Filch?"

         He frowned at her, not resuming his place. "Well, what kind of reaction did you expect me to have? That thing made my legs disappear! It was like half of me turned invisible!" When she cringed at that specific word, Draco connected some dots. "That  _is_ an invisibility cloak, isn't it? Merlin's beard, how did you get one?"

         "It's not mine."

         "You stole an invisibility cloak? My goodness, Granger..."

         She rolled her eyes and pulled it back over to her. "I'm borrowing it."

         "Whose is it?" Seemingly recovered, Draco sat, again, on his pillow and watched her. Less offended now but still so curious.

         "It's Harry's."

         "Potter's? How did he get one?"

         "It's a family heirloom." Another rogue yawn tried to emerge, and that one she covered with her hand. When Draco's brow creased in what she thought was confusion, she said, "You know, it's been passed down for generations."

         He made an impatient hand gesture. "Yes, yes, Granger, I know what an heirloom is." He looked at the Cloak, once again. "But if it's been passed down for decades and decades, how is it still in such good condition? Everyone knows invisibility cloaks falter over time."

         Running a hand over the soft fabric, she said, "Come on, Malfoy. Even  _I've_ read Beedle the Bard's tales."

         That gave Draco pause because he surely knew the tale of the three brothers, and he visibly looked troubled. Then it was like he searched her face for some answer he hoped to find amongst her features. He whispered, as if to himself, "What are the other secrets you keep?" and she wondered what he was hoping to find.

         And then she knew that, if he was really looking, he'd be able to find many things hidden deep in her mind, in her heart. She wanted to move on to the book or anything that wasn't going to make her vulnerable. So, she asked, "Would you like to use the Cloak or should I just cast a warming charm over you?"

         "Um, uh," he said, looking away from her quickly, "a charm would be fine, thank you."

         As she did that, he opened the book to where their marker left off. Penelope settled in, and Draco's voice, gentle and sure, picked up the adventurous story. Just as she had known, he didn't stumble over any of the names or words, and she found the cadence of his storytelling weighed on her eyelids. Made them heavier and heavier until she couldn't fight off sleep even if she tried.


	10. Chapter 10

          It was unclear to Penelope how much time had passed when she jerked awake, but it didn't matter. All that swarmed in her mind was a confusing, clouded dream that had been struck by a particularly clear bolt of terror and the rumblings of a much feared voice uttering an all too familiar dark curse. Her chest felt heavy and tight with anxiety, and she reached out beside her to grab onto something to anchor her. Usually, the soft fabric of her sheets and blankets were enough to bring her back to reality, but that's not what she grabbed in that moment.

         When she clutched onto Draco's arm, he tensed but didn't say anything, just watched her warily. Her eyes were wide, and she stared back at him, the frightening edges of the dream slowly fading. "You all right there, Granger?"

         She didn't answer. She wanted to make the panic subside first. Looking down, she noticed her hand still gripping his arm, so she snatched it away. The residual emotion of her nightmare lingered. She needed something--anything--to take her mind away from her fear. It was the action of Draco shifting the book in his lap that did it for her.

         "How long was I out?" she asked.

         He shrugged. "A little while."

         "And you didn't wake me? The story--"

         "Granger, you obviously need rest, and if you felt safe enough to fall asleep next to me then I wasn't going to disturb that."

         Her chest heaved, breathing still difficult to control. Like she usually did in the wake of her night terrors, Penelope felt on the verge of tears. She felt mind-numbingly afraid. What was she going to do? How was she ever going to not be affected by these dreams? By these things of her past? Did she even have the option to be unmoved? Or was that simply, unwillingly, a part of her now? That thought made her want to cry even more.

         But she would not-- _would not_ \--cry. Especially here. Not in front of Draco.

         In a hurry, she clutched onto the Cloak and stood. "I should get back to my dorm."

         "Penelope..."

         "Good night, Draco." She turned and took a step towards the exit.

         "Penelope, wait." Now Draco stood, too. "Let me walk back with you, at least."

         "There's no need for that. Besides, the dungeons are in the opposite direction."

         He fixed her with a look that said he didn't bloody well care. "I would feel like a terrible friend if I didn't make sure you got back okay."

         Squaring her shoulders, she said, "No need to trouble yourself. I'm fine. Really."

         "Damn it, Penelope, you're not fine," he hissed. "You just woke from some deep terror from hell. I can still see the fear in your eyes."

         Somehow him calling obvious attention to her unstable condition made the pressure behind her eyes build even more. She tore her gaze away from his, blinking rapidly and turning once more to go. When she spoke, her voice was thick. "I'm leaving now, Draco, okay?"

         And when he spoke, his words came out soft, gentle. "Do you really want me to say okay to that? Do you want me to leave you to fend off this darkness alone?" In the silence that ensued, he stepped closer. Softly, once more, he said, "Penelope," and reached out for her.

         The little lion in her heart made her turn toward him, again. She was not that much of a coward that she wouldn't face him. In truth, it was mostly because the little lion told her Draco was the last thing to fear that she allowed herself to meet his eyes. The tears that were blurring her vision made it a bit difficult to see how concerned he was, but it wasn't impossible. So concerned it looked as if it caused him pain to see her this way.

         "I don't want your pity," she whispered.

         "Good thing I'm not giving it," he whispered back. Then he tucked her under his arm, against his side, and she let him walk her back to Gryffindor Tower.

         When they got there, he said a quiet, polite, "Good night," and walked off in the direction of the dungeons, and Penelope slipped up quietly to her bed. It'd been more than comforting to walk beside Draco, and her senses were filled with that scent she had learned was distinctly him. She curled up under her covers and thought about whether or not anything would be different for their friendship now, not even noticing when she drifted off. She slept peacefully the rest of the night through.

         Penelope and Draco ran into each other during their lunch hour the next day, and she was pleased when things felt the same between them. But then Draco suggested they not read together in the evening, and she wondered if she'd missed something, some cue that could have told her things were strained because of her unexpected vulnerability. She couldn't dwell on it for too long, though, because Ginny had wanted to talk, again, about plans for their Hogsmeade weekend.

          _It's nerves_ , Penelope thought,  _She's nervous about seeing Harry_.

         Penelope, on the other hand, was, naturally, not nervous about seeing The Boy Who Lived. He was one of her dearest friends, and, honestly, she was hoping she'd be able to ask him what he thought about befriending the Slytherins. If Saturday presented a quiet moment where it was just the two of them, Penelope would ask. His judgement on this mattered to her.

         Since she'd spent the night without her reading buddy and something to divert her mind from the nightmares, Saturday morning dawned a little too harshly for her. Penelope rolled out of bed wishing she felt rested. Wishing she could cast back a million different shadows.

         "Are you sure you're feeling up to going out with us today, Penn?" Ginny asked.

         "Yes." Penelope waved a dismissive hand over the breakfast table. "I'm feeling fine. Getting out and getting some fresh air would probably be just what I need."

         As things usually went, Ginny looked liked she wanted to contest that, but she didn't. Instead, she asked, "Is your new friend joining us today?"

         "Who?" Penelope frowned at her tea. "Theo?"

         "No. The other one."

         "Oh." She lifted her gaze to look across at the table of snakes. He wasn't even there. Why did she feel disappointed?

         "Well?"

         "No, he's not."

         Again, Ginny looked as though she had more to say. What she settled on was, "We should hurry then or else we'll be late meeting Neville and Luna in the courtyard."

         Penelope raised a brow at Ginny, who usually really didn't care about punctuality nor drum her fingers on the tabletop so rapidly. Kindly, she said, "You know, it's okay you're a bit anxious about today."

         "What kind of Gryffindor would I be if I was anxious?" Ginny asked.

         Offering an encouraging smile to her friend, Penelope said, "A sane one."

         As planned, Neville and Luna were waiting for them, and together the four friends happily left the comfort of the castle for the temporary freedom of Hogsmeade. Harry was waiting for them, had already saved a table and ordered a round of butterbeers, at the Three Broomsticks. The moment Ginny saw her beau, it was like every last nerve melted away. Harry hardly had time to brace himself before she launched herself at him and hugged him tightly.

         After there were hugs all around, they sat down together, eager to listen to Harry talk about how Auror training was going. It seemed exhausting--goodness knew  _he_ looked exhausted--but he also looked and sounded happy, and that was enough for Penelope. After the trauma they'd all suffered these last few years, all she wanted was for her friends to be finding peace now.

         "Well," Neville peered into his empty butterbeer bottle, "I think I'll go get the next round for us, if you'd all like."

         "Oh, let me come with," Ginny said, rising with him. "I'll order some food. I'm starving."

         Penelope laughed. "Gin! We just ate breakfast."

         "Yes, like, a while ago." The redhead grinned. "Come on, Penn. You know I'm on the Quidditch regimen. Gotta keep myself fueled. Ready for anything, any match."

         "You sound just like Wood himself," Penelope remarked.

         Now it was Harry's turn to laugh. "Who do you think came up with that 'Quidditch regimen'?"

         Luna, who'd been watching the banter with interest, got up from her seat, too. "I must go and help you order, Ginny. I want to make sure no nargles get into our food."

         The three of them edged their way through the seemingly ever-crowded space, which left Penelope and Harry at the table. This was the moment of quiet she was waiting for.

         But Harry beat her to it. He turned toward her, brow arched, and said, "So, Penn, I hear you're making friends with the snakes. I feel like you should tell me about it."


	11. Chapter 11

         Harry's inquisitive stare made Penelope shift in her seat and say, "Don't say it like it's such a suspicious thing."

         "Isn't it, though?" he chuckled. "I mean, come on, Penn. Last I checked, those Purebloods were fighting against witches of your status and anyone on your side."

         "I mean, yes, that's true." She gripped her empty bottle of butterbeer. "Do you think this is unwise of me?"

         Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry said, "I want to say yes, which is probably unsurprising. And I could give you a vague lecture of how to be on-guard. As Mad-Eye said, be vigilant." He smiled ruefully. "But, from what Hermione's mentioned to me--and she only did so because she's worried about you and knew I'd be visiting and could check in, so don't be mad at her--you know these Slytherins better than I do. You know Draco better than I ever have. Or, at least, you're knowing a different side of him."

         She nodded. "The war's kind of taught me that I shouldn't be friendly with them, that I should be so hesitant to believe the best of them, especially Draco, for obvious reasons. I don't think I need to bring up everything in his history to you to articulate this."

         As her thoughts and emotions quietly conflicted in her head, she sighed. Hasn't Draco been gentle with her, though? Hasn't he done things a person would do when they're trying to befriend someone? Yet, how long until a habit, a reflex, from the past surfaced, pushed her away? It shouldn't be a big deal. It shouldn't mean anything at all, in the grand scheme of things. But...

         "Penn, why are you so torn up about this? What aren't you telling me?" Harry asked softly.

         Looking into those brilliant green eyes and taking a deep, fortifying breath, she whispered, "What I haven't told anyone is that my Amortentia smells exactly like him."

         Harry's brows went up as that sentence sunk in, but he didn't say anything. He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, looking off like he was pondering something. Then he murmured, "That's fascinating."

         "Fascinating?  _That's_ what you have to say about it?"

         "Well, I mean, it is," he said, meeting her incredulous stare. "You know, people believe that everyone has a soulmate out there somewhere in the world, and I never thought someone like Draco could be loved by someone like you."

         "I didn't say I loved him."

         "I know, but the Amortentia would suggest that you have the potential to. And you are not the person I would have ever picked for him, ever seen as a good match. For obvious reasons, of course. I mean, how could someone who's been so terrible deserve someone who's a soldier for good? If you're soulmates, how could your souls come together? And, while I do believe opposites attract, I've always kind of believed that opposites typically don't last."

         Penelope pulled at the label on her bottle, needing something to do with her hands. Is that how Amortentia really worked--revealed your capacity to potentially fall in love with someone and love them deeply? Or was it more about basic level of attraction? Maybe she needed to do some research on that.

         Quietly, Harry said, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for, Penn, but I can say that you should trust your gut. Even if you feel a little crazy."

         She's shocked to hear him say that. "Why?"

         A smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "Because that's how you figure out love." He held up his hands. "I know, I know--you didn't say you loved the bloody boy. But the point I'm trying to make is that I could give fifty people a book that walks them through, step by step, what it means to become someone's friend, what that should look like--and it could look different for each one of them. So, if you want to continue keeping company with the snakes, all I can say is stick to your instincts."

         "You're being very generous towards them."

         "What makes you say that?"

         She gave him a look. "Because I know you really want to tell me to stay as far away from them, any of them, as possible."

         "Well, just so we're absolutely clear, if I hear of any foul business--of any of those Slytherins doing you wrong--you best believe I will be up here quicker than you can say  _Expelliarmus_." He wagged a finger at her. "You know I wasn't given a sister. But the universe gave me the Granger girls, and you're close enough."

         "I know," she said, smiling.

         By the time the others returned with more refreshments, they ate, and were ready to move on to the next place, Penelope was feeling weary. It'd been a long night of little sleep, and she was ready for a nap. Or at least some silence that might feel restful. So, as the group went to Zonko's, she said goodbye and headed up to the castle. Her mind was heavy with thoughts sparked from her conversation with Harry. 

         What was she going to do about her blooming friendship with Draco? Did she need to worry over what to do next? Should she just let things play out? Be careful and see where things went?

         Dangerous. That sounded dangerous. Yet, wasn't something about danger supposed to be enticing to lions?

         Later, though, when she was tucked up in her room and received a note from Draco asking about reading together that night, she ignored it. How could she respond when she wasn't sure exactly what her instincts were telling her?


	12. Chapter 12

         Sunday evening after dinner, Penelope made herself comfortable in the library to do some extracurricular research. That's where Draco found her when he walked in not much later.

         "Do you ever do your coursework?" he asked as he set his bag down and sat across from her. Part of her was surprised he hadn't started off with asking why she hadn't responded to his note from the night before.

         She scoffed. "What Granger in their right mind would  _not_ do their coursework?"

         "Then how come I never see you working on it? You're always studying other stuff."

         "Because," she said, "unlike my sister, I'm not competing against myself to set a new record for highest marks on every assignment, which means I don't need to spend extra time completing things."

         "Sure," said Draco, "but I never see you doing actual work, in general."

         She tilted her head at him. "You're quite concerned with my marks."

         "I'm not concerned," he said, shaking his head and taking out his quill and parchment. "I just don't understand. What is that you're reading about, anyway?" Reaching out, he flipped up the cover of her book to peek at it. "Hm, a potions text?"

         "Yes," she said. "Potions. Perhaps I'm studying, after all."

         He leaned forward over the table top to look at the chapter heading. "Studying up on--Amortentia? I thought Slughorn already brewed that one for you?"

         "He did."

         All Draco's response consisted of was a raised eyebrow.

         "What?" Then she looked down at the page and echoed Harry's thought. "It's fascinating."

         "Sure," was all he said.

         Still a little indignant, she asked, "Well, all right, what are you studying?"

         "Non-verbal spell casting. Do you know what kind of wand is most sensitive to this kind of magic?"

         "Too easy--pine."

         "Okay, what's the type that's most likely to refuse to cast non-verbals?"

         "Again, too easy--dogwood."

         "Do you know the type that cooperates best with this?"

         "Aren't you the one who's supposed to be learning this? Shouldn't  _I_ be quizzing  _you_?"

         He smirked at her. "Or is it that I've finally asked a question you don't know the answer to?"

         "I know the answer," she said, a bit snappy. "It's alder. Do I get to ask you an actual tough question now?"

         His lips twitched, still amused. "Go for it."

         Except, she needed some time. She wanted to make it super difficult. She wanted to stump him. His expression was too smug for her not to come up with something clever. She just needed to think.

         "Nothing particularly challenging coming to mind, Granger?" he teased, which quietly infuriated her. Of course she would think of something good. Cleverness didn't always rush out; it took its time, occasionally.

         Still, Draco poked at her with his teasing, mocking words until she could hardly block him out. How was she supposed to think of something when he was distracting her? She ducked her head, staring at her open book, and rubbed her temples. Maybe if she didn't look at him it would be easier to concentrate.

         He kept on until she finally just spit out one of the topics bouncing around in her head: "Fine, what does Amortentia smell like to me?" That stopped them both short because Penelope  _could not_ believe she'd asked  _that_ of all things. How thick was she? "Oh, Merlin...nevermind..." she muttered, now slightly grouchy at the turn of events.

         "How on earth am I supposed to know what that smells like to you?" he asked.

         "I said nevermind. I'll think of something different. Just...return to your studies." She waved a hand dismissively. "And let me get back to mine." When he didn't say anything in response, she glanced up at him, shyly. "What?"

         "Well," he said, "now I'm curious, is all."

         She tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back down at her book. "Not a bad thing to be."

         "Sure, if you find answers to your questions."

         "As far as I'm concerned, I asked the question, so I'm the one waiting on an answer."

         "This doesn't count as you stumping me, you know."

         "Doesn't it?"

         "Absolutely not. The question wasn't fair, at all."

         "Well, I'm not asking anything new right now."

         He made a noise of dissatisfaction but let the subject drop. Penelope was grateful, and she quietly sighed in relief. Merlin, what had she been thinking? The last thing she wanted to do was talk about her potential attraction--and maybe feelings--with him, especially since she couldn't even figure them out on her own.

         So, they worked on their respective projects in peace for a while. As she read more and more about the world's most powerful love potion, the more she forgot about her conflict. It truly was fascinating--this potion that could ensnare hearts like nothing else. Hearts were such fickle things, so to have something that could cause them to chase after obsession was a little scary because obsession seemed like a risky state of being.

         Then, after a while, she flipped forward in the book, moving on to her other research. Or, more like, moving back. She stared down at well-thumbed pages holding information about memory restoration. Her neat handwriting filled the margin with notes and questions and ideas. Sentences and paragraphs were underlined. All of it was important, helpful information, yet none of it had proved to be the key to bringing her parents back.

         She couldn't and she didn't blame Hermione for what she'd done  _obliviating_ them. They'd agreed they do whatever they needed to protect them. If chance had made her the big sister, she would have been the one to take charge. She would be the one living with that particular burden. 

         Still, she wished they'd figured out a solution already. Why did it have to be so difficult tracking their parents down? 

         Then a thought struck her: what would happen if someone took components of Amortentia--a potion that was fixated on obssession--and mixed it with components of Felix Felicis--bottled up luck--to help you chase after and track down the things your heart wanted most? 

         Across from her, Draco sighed as he flipped a page of his book. Penelope's heart stuttered in her chest. Here was this boy who read with her and who was actively, genuinely seeking to be kind to her. Here was this boy who could match her wit for wit. Here was this boy. 

         Madly, she focused again on her work and started jotting down notes on this new idea of hers. Questions and references and theories that were rising up in her mind. She made sure to underline this point for extra emphasis: _Must find a way to make it absolutely controllable; the heart, left to chase after its desires, is an entirely dangerous thing._


	13. Chapter 13

         The weather started getting colder and the air drier, so Penelope dug through her trunk until she found the special peppermint lotion her mother had given her because it was especially good for dry hands. Penelope loved the hint of juniper berry mixed in, and, before she left that evening for reading with Draco--something they'd agreed they should pick back up with the beginning of the week--she put some on.

         Draco was at their rendezvous spot when she showed up, and she wondered how early he arrived. He was always there before her.

         As she moved past him into their hideout, she noticed him stiffen, and she half turned back to him. "Are you all right?"

         His eyebrows were drawn together, and he watched her like he suddenly had no idea who she was. Oddly enough, he didn't respond to her question.

         "I asked," she reiterated, "are you all right?"

         "Never better," he said in a hurry. She noticed his shoulders only slightly relaxed, though.

         Penelope narrowed her eyes at him, trying to figure out what was really going on. "I'm not convinced."

         At that, he did loosen up a little more and even rolled his eyes at her. "Let's just get to reading. I'm fine." But then, as they were getting situated on their respective cushions, he asked, "Are you, by chance, wearing a perfume of sorts?"

         "Um, not perfume," she said. "This time of year my hands start getting really dry, so I have some lotion I like to wear. Good Godric, are you allergic to it?"

         Judging by the slight loss of color, which was nearly impossible to detect since he was so pale already, it appeared that was the case. But then he shook himself and said in a rush, "No, no, I'm fine. Everything is fine. Let's read. We're almost finished."

         A strange insecurity crept into Penelope's mind then, and she peered at him almost shyly, asking, "Is it...foul...smelling to you? Should I cast a charm to mask the scent of it or--"

         "Penelope, I can assure you everything is fine." Yet, the tense way he sat and the sharpness of his tone suggested otherwise.

         She found the page they'd last left off on, still finding his reaction most curious. She had enough wisdom, of course, to not ask any more questions and began reading. All too soon they reached the very end. A satisfied sigh escaped her.

         "Well," she said, "what are your thoughts the second time around?"

         Draco arched a brow. "I still can't believe it took him ten years to get home."

         "He had a lot of things working against him."

         "All the same, that's a long time to be away."

         Sadly, Penelope couldn't help but think of her parents. "Yes," she murmured, "it is."

         After a beat of silence passed between them, Draco said, "We'll have to pick something else now. I mean, if you'd like to keep this up."

         "I think we should. I'm not sure what kinds of stories you enjoy, but I've brought plenty of books with me. Maybe--"

         "What were you reading that other night in the library?"

         Frowning, she said, "My potions book?"

         "No, no." He waved a hand and gave her a look like she'd just asked a very silly question. "When you were trying to avoid me."

         "Oh, um,  _The Lord of the Rings_." 

         With one succinct nod, he said, "Let's read that then."

         When they split for the night--at an hour that was close to two in the morning--Penelope headed toward Gryffindor tower wondering which member of the Fellowship would be Draco's favorite. She found herself hoping he liked Sam, too.

         During the day, she cut her lunch hour in half to show up to Potions early, entirely correct in anticipating Slughorn being there, too. He was pleasantly surprised to see her walking through the door. "Ah, Miss Granger! How does the day find you?"

         They traded small talk for a minute before she said, "Professor, I wanted to get your perspective on an idea for finding my parents. I was wondering about the possibilities of merging elements of Amortentia and Felix Felicis."

         "Merlin, that could be dangerous."

         "I know," said Penelope, taking out the lengthy notes she'd made a few nights before, "which is why I wanted to talk to someone with more experience."

         Of course, Slughorn was flattered and even more willing to engage in conversation of theory and hypotheses. By the time the rest of the class showed up at the normal hour, the teacher and student had thought of twenty more significant concerns and questions revolving around this idea. It was invigorating to Penelope, and all she wanted to do was blow off the rest of the afternoon to spend time researching in the library. Oh, if only Hermione was here to help in this.

         The thought of her sister made Penelope postpone her research even once classes let out because she knew she needed to transpose her notes and write up a quick letter so Hermione could know about this. She was the most brilliant witch of her age, and it did involve her parents, too.

         When she was finished writing everything necessary, Penelope's wrist hurt from the fury by which she had worked, and she hurried to seal and mark it for the post. Then she was off to the owlery, her legs moving almost as fast as it seemed her mind was. The energy of potential learning and discovery was alive and vibrant in her today. She'd forgotten it could feel like this. She needed to go track down some books and maybe submit a request to Madame Pince to send off for materials located in the Diagon Alley library and--

         She, so lost in her mental organizing, collided with someone as she was coming out of the owlery. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. Oh, Draco!"

         Whether it was because he was so thoroughly surprised to see her, too, or because he also had too much on his mind, Draco seemed flustered. "Hello, Penelope." Then it was like he could feel the wild energy coursing off her and asked, "Where's the fire?"

         "I--well, you see--um--" For some reason, Penelope couldn't grasp the words she wanted to say. Apparently, all the words she knew that could articulate her project had been dumped out into the letter meant for her sister.

         "Is that so?" Draco asked, teasing.

         She tilted her head at him and gave him a look, but she wasn't annoyed. "If you even knew a fragment of what I was up to, you'd be beside yourself, too."

         "Well," he made a wide gesture, "why don't you tell me then?"

         And so she found herself gathering enough of her wits and explaining what she thought she might be onto--this hybrid potion that could help a person track down their heart's desires. As she talked, they walked slowly, casually, together back toward the castle.

         When they were approaching the entryway, Penelope cut herself off. "Why, I've distracted you from whatever you meant to do at the owlery!"

         "Don't mind it, Granger. But, back to your idea, don't you think it's infinitely risky?" He eyed her curiously. "Giving your heart the chance to chase after and actually capture what it wants most?"

         "Of course," she said. "I mean, in a way, we're supposed to give our hearts that chance in everyday life, but--"

         "Are we?"

         Somewhat surprised by that question, Penelope's brow creased. "I--well, I think so. How else will a person ever find happiness? Or achievement? Or love?"

         They paused right before going inside, something demanding they stop and soak in this extra moment. Draco, for a reason Penelope couldn't explain, stepped closer to her. Her senses were wholly overwhelmed by  _him_ , and her breath caught. Though he wasn't exceptionally tall, she had to tilt her head up to meet Draco's eyes. Suddenly, things felt more intimate than Penelope was expecting. Felt almost like it did when they were secreted away reading together.

         Then, softly, Draco asked, "You think it's reasonable to give love a chance?"

         Somehow she managed to ask, "Why wouldn't it be?"

         "Because," he said, "sometimes your heart wants what it shouldn't. Sometimes--" He stopped abruptly and carefully reached out to tuck one of her errant curls behind her ear. Again, she could hardly breathe. Hardly fathomed how such an interaction was transpiring. "Sometimes you want what you know you can't have."

         While she was trying to figure out exactly what Draco was talking about, he backed away. It scared her that all she really wanted was to pull him near, again.

         Wistfully, Draco gave her a half smile and said, "I'll see you this evening, Granger. Don't forget to bring our new read." Then he turned and headed back down toward the owlery. 

         Half of Penelope wanted to run after him, grasp his hand, and ask him what was on his heart. To ask him if that had really been affection in his gesture or if she'd just projected it. But the other half of her firmly told her now was not the time. She had an idea to research. She had parents to find. She had a heart of her own to protect.


End file.
